


Hitchhike to Hell

by ChiaRoseKuro



Series: A World of One's Own [12]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Aftermath of Said Canonical Deaths, Angst, Character Study, Drabble, Gen, Prompt Fic, Songfic, canonical character deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 14:17:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14451060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChiaRoseKuro/pseuds/ChiaRoseKuro
Summary: What would it be like, to have no chakra at all? What would it be like to belong to a family without such high expectations and such a crushing weight upon their shoulders?What would it be like to not wake up in the middle of the night, wondering why his four-year-old hands weren’t covered in blood?(there's no point flogging a dead horse, but sometimes it's cathartic enough to not matter anyway)





	Hitchhike to Hell

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty much a companion piece to [Somebody That Means Something](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14239716), given that this is Itachi's version of dealing with the Uchiha Massacre and that was Sasuke's. For obvious reasons, this'll have the same sort of warnings the other drabble had—namely, a great deal of grief and the canonical misery Itachi shouldered through the rest of his life—so if you don't want to read about that, please press the 'back' button now.
> 
> Special thanks to Ella Vos' _Down in Flames_ for setting the tone in the three or so hours it took to write this, the prompt 'you must be mad, coming here like this' for sparking Itachi's return to Konoha and my university groupwork for fucking me over and preventing me from uploading this for the past week. Seriously, covering for incompetent asshats is _not_ fun and I'm still dead on my feet (or my ass, as it were) for a solid week of late nights and essay-writing.

* * *

 

It’s sentiment that brings Itachi home in the end, though he’d ceased to think of it as home since he’d stabbed his parents through the heart and saw Sasuke’s eyes bleed red. It’s sentiment touched with a tinge of curiosity, hours after a fruitless mission with his partner and in the strange hours between midnight and dawn, and—Kisame doesn’t object, but he doesn’t come into the village either.

“I have nothing there,” he says, stopping a respectable distance where no Konoha nin can sense him. _I won’t die from your sentiments,_ he leaves unspoken, and Itachi doesn’t bring it up either.

Nothing much has changed about the village—entering is slightly harder than escaping, given that he doesn’t have the Third’s blessing and ordinary shinobi would find the defences impenetrable, but he manages nonetheless. Night patrols jump to and fro from rooftops while civilians sleep, unaware of the stringent protection enforced to keep them safe, and Itachi almost laughs at the thought.

What would it be like, to have no chakra at all? What would it be like to belong to a family without such high expectations and such a crushing weight upon their shoulders?

What would it be like to not wake up in the middle of the night, wondering why his four-year-old hands weren’t covered in blood?

Painted nails dig into his palms as Itachi slips through back alleys and side streets, evading the tens of watchful eyes roaming the village. A whisper of dark hair at his periphery, and suddenly there’s a phantom weight in his arms as a girl long-dead thanks him for loving her. The smell of rotting dango, and suddenly there’s a soft hand in his own and a bright voice calling _nii-san, nii-san_.

What would it be like, to have his family alive and safe? What would it be like to hide them so that nobody could hurt them—especially not himself?

Itachi slips into the Uchiha compound with nobody any wiser and slumps against a wall, hands digging painfully into his scalp.

It was a mistake—he knows that now. He should’ve headed further into the forest, set up camp under the cover of several genjutsu and left Konoha behind—but one stray thought, one fleeting fantasy, and he’s here again.

He can’t see much, but Itachi doesn’t need a Sharingan to see the blood splatters that were never washed out of the streets and the long-abandoned houses. _How the Uchiha have fallen,_ he thinks, and forces himself onto his feet.

Two streets and three turns later, Itachi’s standing before his family house. There’s blood here too, droplets splashed against the veranda in inconspicuous places, but it’s far cleaner than Izumi’s old home. Nostalgia sees him slipping his sandals off his feet when he enters, ghosting silently down the hallway and avoiding creaky boards with practiced ease—

Until he reaches a closed door and the sound of gentle breaths makes itself known to him.

Distantly, Itachi can feel something give way beneath his fist, but his gaze is steady and his breaths are even. _I promise you,_ a cold voice says in his head, _I will not touch your younger brother_.

_But what is the point of not meddling if this is the result_ , he wonders. _My little brother sleeps in the house where his older brother murdered his parents, and you think of this as **care**?_

Oh, Itachi remembers a boy with whisker marks on his cheek and sunshine-yellow hair sullenly seated by himself—but this? Having the last of the Uchiha live with dried blood and murdered ghosts for company?

Knowing that his brother killed the entire clan but only thinking he did it to _prove_ himself?

Pain lances up his arm and Itachi blinks, looking down at the splinters sticking out of his hand. The gentle breaths stop and there’s a sleepy murmur, too soft for him to make out the words, but Itachi’s already retracing his steps and jamming his feet into his sandals.

_Careless, so careless_ , he berates himself as he slips out the village again. His little brother will only stumble upon a fist-shaped hole in his home and Itachi…

“Happy now?” a voice asks, before his partner materializes from the trees and stares into his face.

His little brother will continue to alone, have no family to depend on because his older brother killed them all, and Itachi…

“Hn,” he replies, and does what he should’ve an hour ago.

(back in the village, a little boy presses his hand to a hole and whispers, but nobody catches his words and soon he returns to his bed)

**Author's Note:**

> For further author notes and other things related to this fic or series, feel free to check out my [blog](https://chiarosekuro.wordpress.com/). I've got other writing stuff on there as well, if that piques your interest, but you're best checking out 'Hitchhike to Hell' or 'A World of One's Own' if you want this fic/series specifically.


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